


Each Kiss an Inspiration

by chilly_flame



Series: Stardust [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Ladies' Night Out, and go dancing, and make out in secret, cause that's what they are, gal pals, gal pals spending time together, past mentions of steve/peggy, who like to hit the sheets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 13:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3489359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chilly_flame/pseuds/chilly_flame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy and Angie take a weekend away from the Griffith and go out on the town, in a sequel to “Where Roses Bloom.” While that story went AU during the episode “A Sin to Err,” I’ve attempted to shift it back somewhat to follow the events, if not the timeline, of “SNAFU” and “Valediction.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Each Kiss an Inspiration

It takes a couple of weeks for things to settle down after her return. During that time, Miriam watches her with a piercing glare most mornings, but Peggy's very good at ignoring the evil eye. The boys at work can barely look at her, since she recently punched most of them in the face, and they all went down hard, to a man. Howard's been saying he has something big planned for her, but she doesn't care all that much. After capturing Johann Fenhoff and helping to save the city from destroying itself, she just wants to relax.

She sleeps well for the first time in months, once she's back in the Griffith. Dottie is still out there, but both Howard and the entire SSR are on the case, so she doesn't have to go it alone any longer. Besides, the sounds of the comings and goings of the girls on the floor ease her lingering anxiety. The footsteps from the floor above, the chatter from the phone down the hall, even the sounds of the occasional siren outside are comforting, because it means she's not alone.

But mostly it's because Angie is there, next to her, every night.

Peggy's not the greatest at sleeping in close proximity to another person; she's been accused of moving about the bed too much, of kicking her bedmates, of snoring when she's had too much bourbon. So far, Angie hasn't complained about any of these things, despite the fact that the bed they share (in either her own apartment or Angie's) is ridiculously small. Of course Miss Fry would say that's because the beds are meant for one, not two, but Angie's so slim she barely takes up any room. And whenever they slip beneath the sheets together, Angie tends to roll right over on top of Peggy and make sleeping a lot less interesting than the alternative.

What's illuminating is that sometimes Angie talks in her sleep. She says Peggy's name now and then, along with “get you some coffee,” “cut it out, Frankie,” “ironing,” “Torvald,” and her personal favorite, “English.” (She's still unsure where Torvald fits in.) And she loves to hold Peggy tightly when she's unconscious, grabbing her around the waist as though she's afraid, even in dreams, that she might bolt at any moment. Fortunately Peggy managed to survive through years of war by catching cat naps while sitting up in a noisy bomber, so when Angie wakes her, she can fall back to sleep right away.

When they wake together, Angie's still surprised to see her. Surprised, and happy. She stares at Peggy with eager, stunned eyes, and it reminds Peggy of the moment Angie had dragged her in through the window, that day not so long ago. Like Peggy was a revelation.

But Angie's the real revelation. Peggy hasn't said much about her feelings aloud, because they're private, and frightening. She thought she wouldn't feel this way again, not after losing Steve before they ever had a chance to be something. But here she is, sharing a bed with a pretty blonde waitress, and loving how it makes her heart seem like it might burst from her chest now and then. She's practically domesticated. They float around one another in the mornings, sharing the bathroom unless Peggy has to be out before dawn, or if Angie has a late shift. They go down to breakfast separately, and they check the hall with a tiny mirror angled from beneath the door before one of them emerges. They don't have to be entirely secretive, since it's not unusual for the girls to spend all hours with each other in their rooms, talking and drinking and playing cards. She doesn't want to take any risks with Miriam, though. She's rocked the boat enough this month.

On this very early Friday morning, Peggy eases awake and stretches out, not realizing that Angie's already left the bed. “Hmm?” she grunts, sitting up on her elbows and glancing around. “Darling?” There's a note on the pillow next to her.

 _Went to get coffee early and caught a call from work. Linda called in sick so I'm on a double. Weekend's all yours if you're around._ There's a lipstick print of a kiss as a signature.

 _If you're around_ , she reads again. Angie makes no demands on her, despite their closeness. In a way it's what Peggy needs out of a relationship; she'll be able to vanish without a trace on a mission and know that Angie understands. But it also angers her, because Angie deserves more. She deserves everything.

Gazing at the outline of Angie's mouth, Peggy hates that she missed this morning kiss. She'll have to make up for it with her surprise weekend plans.

\---

She packs everything before she leaves for work, and hauls the not-too-heavy case into the office. Sousa opens his mouth as he eyes it, probably to ask what she's up to, but he changes his mind at the last minute. She slips it beneath her desk and checks the lock before cuffing it to a metal brace out of sight. If anyone gets curious about its contents, they wouldn't find much in it, but it might stir up gossip.

Then again, it might stir up the kind of gossip that would distract from the truth. Hmm. Perhaps she'll let the case fly open on her way out. That should get the boys talking.

She calls Mister Jarvis to confirm the arrangements, which are settled. After that, she hides her smile and gets down to work. She has a lot to get done since she'll be ducking out a bit early.

Thompson knows better than to question her request for departure just after 4:00. He is already back to his old bravado, making inane conversation while somehow managing to make it sound insulting. “Big plans, Carter? Gonna go bust some chops out in the streets?”

“Only if I have to, Chief Thompson. Lately I've had enough practice 'busting chops,' as you say. I'm quite sure my skills are up to par. Have a lovely weekend.”

“What, you're not gonna tell us where you're going with that suitcase?”

She pauses, considering. “No.” With a breezy smile, she turns and calls out, “Goodbye.”

Sousa doesn't chime in. She senses his interest, and doesn't want to encourage him any further by engaging him in conversation. Perhaps later, she'll rekindle their friendship, but for now, she'll leave well enough alone.

It's not far to the diner, and the evening breeze is warm and fine. With two full days in front of her filled with only Angie, she finds herself smiling on the walk. She spies her lover through the window, grinning and poking a pencil behind her ear as she chats up a family at one of her tables. She nods and smiles, and Peggy likes seeing her this way, so open and friendly. She enters through the revolving door and takes a seat at the counter, keeping her radar tuned to Angie's position until she hears the stutter in her step that means she's been spotted.

“Hey, uh, hey, Pegs!”

Hearing that hesitation in her voice makes Peggy smile. “Hello, Angie. How are you?”

“Uh, fine and dandy! Are you hungry for um, dinner?” And then she blushes.

Peggy laughs, looking next to her briefly to make sure the man seated two stools over is paying them no mind. “Yes, but not for a meal here,” she says, keeping her voice conversational. “I'm actually on my way--”

“Oh,” Angie interrupts, seeing the case at her feet. “You gotta go somewhere?” Her disappointment is palpable. “Didja just come by to say 'bye'?”

“Not at all,” Peggy says quickly. “I'm on my way stay somewhere for the weekend. I thought you might like to join me.”

Angie glances behind her, and all around Peggy at once; she'd be quite good at reconnaissance if the moment was right. “Me?”

“Indeed. I've made arrangements. When you're finished here, we can go straight over.”

“But I gotta go back to the Griffith and get my stuff, you know, that I might need--”

“I took the liberty of packing up for you,” Peggy tells her. “I hope that's not too--” she lowers her voice-- “forward.”

“You packed for me?”

“I did.” Oh yes, she should confess to breaking in. “Turns out your door was... ajar this morning when I stopped in to say good morning.” She raises her eyebrows, and Angie gets the message.

“Oh, yeah, sometimes I don't pull the door closed right. Those locks are tricky. I should tell Miriam next time I see her.”

“I would. It's a matter of safety.” Her lips quirk up to one side.

“That's pretty great, then. I won't be too long, anyway. I'm outta here at 5 sharp, _whether Virginia shows up on time or not_!” she says, raising her voice so it will carry back to the manager in the kitchen. He hears her, and rolls his eyes.

Virginia, however, does arrive on time, and at 5:03 Angie trails after Peggy as the sun sets over the city, casting a beautiful light over everything. While they make their way south on 5th Avenue, Angie looks over at her, and when their eyes meet, their shared secret gives her a little frisson of excitement. It’s a revelation to be one half of a couple in love, and she is without a doubt telegraphing her emotions across the entire isle of Manhattan.

Once they enter the building, Angie begins to balk. “I – uh, Pegs, are you sure we're in the right place?”

In the elevator, Angie clutches at her stomach. “I don't know if it's safe to be up this high.”

In the entryway, Angie whispers, “Are we breaking in or somethin'?”

But Peggy has the key, delivered by Jarvis so many months ago, and she only smiles. “No darling, we have permission."

“To stay here?” Angie asks, glaring up at the vaulted ceilings with suspicion. “Here? I don't think so. I'm not cut out for this kind of joint.” Her lips quirk up at the corners as she watches Peggy. “You are, though. You probably come from just this sorta place.”

“I do not, in fact. We were very middle class, thank you very much.” She spies the tray of scones and crumpets, nearly exclaiming at the amount of real butter and – goodness – clotted cream on the side. She hasn't had that for years. The teapot has a thick coil of steam rising from its spout, and she practically dives for it. She pours the milk first , and the scent of the Earl Grey is heavenly as it fills the cup. “Tea, darling?”

She pours Angie a cup without waiting for an answer, and sips from her own with an eager sigh. “Oh, that is marvelous.” The first scone is half gone by the time Angie interrupts her.

“Not that I want to, um, break up this affair with your snacks or anything, but what the heck are we doin' here, Pegs?”

“We're staying for the weekend,” she reminds Angie, only slightly embarrassed that she's talking with her mouth full. “Mm, excuse me. Howard owes the two of us a great deal, and he's more than happy to offer up this place for a little R&R.”

“That's nice and all,” Angie says, still looking uncomfortable in her surroundings. “But what's this place got that the Griffith ain't? I mean, besides fancy floors and expensive paintings, and—”

“Privacy,” Peggy says, with what she hopes isn't too lecherous a grin.

“Huh?” Angie frowns.

She sets her cup of tea down on the cart, and places Angie's next to it. “I said, privacy.” She starts toward Angie, moving slowly, reaching out to curl a lock of Angie's wavy hair around one finger. “Remember the first time we kissed, in your parents' house?”

Angie takes a breath, and her eyes glaze over. _Yes, that's just right_. “Sure, I do.” She blinks.

Peggy allows her voice to drop to a whisper. “Remember how quiet we had to be?” She steps closer, her nose brushing Angie's cheek, then her ear, and her throat. “So quiet, so your mother and father wouldn't burst in and find us in your bed, naked beneath your sheets and--”

“Yeah, I remember,” Angie gasps, surely as lost in the memory of it as Peggy is. How thrilling that was, how furtive their touches and caresses, how quick they had to be so they wouldn't be discovered. Even at the Griffith it's been that way, their time so short before one or both of them passes out from exhaustion. And in the mornings, they've tried, but invariably someone knocks on the door to summon them for breakfast or a nice chat.

“Here, we don't have to be quiet. In fact, I want to hear your voice, my darling,” Peggy murmurs, right in Angie's ear as she shudders. “I want to hear you sing like I know you can.”

“Uhh,” Angie groans weakly, shuddering. “You do?”

“Yes,” Peggy hisses, fastening her mouth at Angie's throat, raking her teeth down the side of it as Angie's knees give way. Peggy's got her up against the wall in an instant, pressing a thigh between legs that part in invitation. “Won't you sing for me, my darling Angel?” she says, nibbling a petal-soft earlobe.

She's squirming now in Peggy's embrace, already set to go off, but she hasn't made a sound after that first groan. “I feel shy,” Angie mumbles, clawing at Peggy's back as though she's not shy in the least. “I'm not used to making noise.”

 _Ah_ , Peggy considers. _Understandable_. “Would you feel better if we were in a bedroom and not here, out in the open where just anyone could walk in?”

Angie squeaks in alarm.

“Not that anyone would, of course,” Peggy adds, “Howard knows this place is strictly off limits. We're alone. Though I suppose the cook is... somewhere. But I'm sure he or she is quite discreet. Obviously.”

“Then take me to bed, English,” Angie says, rubbing herself up against Peggy's thigh like a kitten. “I'll think it over on the way.”

Peggy leaves the suitcase in the hall. She'll retrieve it later.

Once in the bedroom, Angie nearly leaps into her arms, one leg wrapping round her thighs. Peggy easily takes much of her weight, digging her fingers into the narrow hips that flex beneath her grasp. Their kisses continue during the brief walk to the four poster bed where Peggy slept that single night before she found her way to the Griffith. She recalls the softness of the mattress, the feathery duvet that cradled her as she tossed and turned through her nightmares of Colleen's death, and her own near miss.

This will be a lovely way to wipe away that memory.

Before she reaches the bed, she turns Angie around in her embrace. She removes Angie's work skirt, her stained blouse, pulls the silly hat from her head. Angie is left only in the bandeau brassiere that Peggy adores, because it shows far more of her stomach than generally accepted in polite society. Peggy makes quick work of the stockings, rolling them down carefully, and snapping one of the suspenders just hard enough to pull a squeak out of Angie. She undresses herself much faster, because she doesn't want to complicate their evening with a protracted stripping session. (They can save that for another night.) Then she holds Angie once more, her long, warm back tight to Peggy's breasts and hips, and for the first time, she hears Angie moan.

Peggy feels the sound between her thighs. She gasps, and that spurs on a second moan, shorter and sharper. Tilting her head forward, Peggy eyes the hummingbird pulse at Angie's throat. She has meant to be patient, and relaxed, but the vision of the wild rush of blood in Angie's veins stirs Peggy's arousal to dizzying heights. She bites down, gentle but urgent, feeling the sweet curve of her rump as Angie leans over, grabbing at Peggy's hips and urging her closer. “Peggy,” she croons; Peggy smiles, since the bedroom is the nearly the only place that Angie skips over the many terms of endearment she uses so freely. She still throws in the occasional "honey," but more often than not, it's “Peggy” when they're making love, or fucking, as the case may be. This first will likely be more of a fucking, and she'll save the lovemaking for later that evening, after she works them both over for a while.

She wraps one arm around Angie above her breasts, grasping the opposite shoulder to keep her steady. Her other arm reaches south, dipping below the girdle, the fabric tight enough to keep Peggy's fingers from taking advantage of the range of motion she really needs. She yanks the ridiculous garment down along with her underwear, shoving it all to the floor, which leaves Angie naked from the waist down, and hot as a fire between her legs.

It's difficult to decide what to do first, but the smooth expanse of soft skin so close to her mouth wins by a hair. She kisses her neck so softly that Angie shivers, hands closing and opening at her sides. Another kiss, this one even lighter, until she trails her lips up the back of Angie's neck to the base of her skull, and this draws a real cry from her lips. She grips Angie's shoulder more tightly, using her tongue to trace a line to the back of her ear until she nibbles the delicate shell. Angie tips her head back and cries out again. “Peggy,” she sighs, “is this—ah—is this what you want?”

“Yes, my darling,” and she touches Angie's clitoris, very lightly, until the cries grow louder and more urgent. She closes her eyes and lets Angie's voice guide her fingers, lets Angie's body set the pace. She slips inside now and then, but mostly just plays and swirls her fingertips until Angie’s hips move faster, and this time Peggy is the one who moans. This heat and pleasure and freedom they can have here is so good, and they're moving together as Angie rocks and thrusts until she comes in a moment of stillness, her mouth open but utterly silent. Only when the pulsing beneath her hand begins to slow does Angie make another sound, of sweet relief this time.

“Geez, Peg, that was nice,” she murmurs, her head lolling against Peggy's shoulder. “I didn't even get my clothes all the way off.”

“We've plenty of time for that,” Peggy says, their fingers twining together between Angie's legs.

Angie chuckles. “I love weekends. I love 'em when I'm with you, anyway. Never used to care that much.”

“Neither did I.” She generally works weekends, particularly during her investigation into Leviathan, but now with the threat at least partially neutralized, she can make time for herself.

Angie turns in her arms for a kiss, taking Peggy's bottom lip between her teeth and pulling slowly. “Your turn, right?” Her damp fingers reach down and press where Peggy is slick and wanting. “You gonna make some noise now?”

Already well on her way, Peggy thinks it won't take much to get her to the edge. “If you like.”

“Yeah, I like,” Angie replies, pushing Peggy the last few inches toward the bed till she sits. Then she grabs a pillow and drops it on the floor. “I like these pillows, too. Real comfy. Think Stark would mind if I swipe a couple on our way out?” Then Angie's mouth descends, and Peggy curses her way, loudly, into an orgasm, followed quickly by another, in three minutes flat.

“Crikey,” Peggy said, a wrist at her forehead as she tries to catch her breath. “You're very good at that.”

“I learn real fast when I'm motivated,” Angie replies as she perches her chin on Peggy's belly, rising and falling with her breath.

“I expect you've had some practice, of course,” Peggy says, realizing they haven't touched on this topic. Past relationships and lost loves tend to take the wind out of her sails, so she avoids the conversation most of the time.

“I guess. I got up a skirt or two at the bar when I had the chance, and I felt up Marlene Kripke in the girl's bathroom when we were in high school till she got pinned by a varsity football player. She shoulda stuck with me—she ended up leaving in the middle of our senior year to go traveling--” she makes eyes at the word-- ”for about nine months, if you get my drift.” She rolls her eyes and kisses Peggy's hip bone with something like reverence. “But I never had a shot with anybody like you before, English. You're—anyway, it's not important.”

“You mean you've not had a lover before?” Peggy says, trying to control her surprise, not to mention the disappointment in herself that she had not noticed Angie's lack of experience from that very first day. She thinks back to the way Angie had kissed so confidently, how she'd gone straight to cunnilingus without inhibition. Peggy frowns as she sits up on her elbows, deflated at her own stupidity.

“Don't make that face at me. It's no big deal,” Angie says, turning away and standing. Her body is so lovely, and Peggy watches as she moves to the bed and pulls the covers down. “Gosh, stop it!” She gets under the sheets. “Stop looking at me like that!”

“I didn't know, my darling,” Peggy says, rolling over and crawling to her. “I would have taken more care, or at least –“ she racks her brain – “asked more questions about what you wanted, or what you liked—what if I'd hurt you?”

“I’d have told you right away, dummy,” Angie says. “I don't let anybody take advantage of me unless I want 'em to. Get it? And I wanted everything that happened, and every time since it's been even better. l--” she swallows. “I should have lied. I shoulda told you I'd been around the block plenty--”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Peggy says, startled. “I don't want that. I just feel—rude, I suppose. I should have been more attentive, or at least asked after you.”

Angie lifts an eyebrow and smirks. “Listen, I might never have done it lyin' down, but I got to know my way around downtown a little bit. Like I said, I’ve been goin' to the bar a while. But nobody ever got to do it to me till you. And in fifty years I get to look back and think how amazing my first time was with someone I—somebody like you.”

Hearing the words makes Peggy want to declare that no one else should ever touch Angie Martinelli, not as long as she lives, because she'll be Peggy's, always. “Well, I've only been with men, if that's something. And just two.”

Angie blinks up at her, blue eyes wide and guileless when she asks, “Was one of 'em Steve?”

The little stab of loss isn't a surprise, but Peggy can't help the wetness that come to her eyes. “No,” she breathes, resting her forehead against Angie's.

Angie's sound of sorrow is an odd comfort. “That's awful, Pegs. I wish he had been. I mean, I can't compete with Captain America or anything, but I wish you'd gotten the chance to be happy together. Even if it was just for one night.”

Peggy laughs through her tears, wiping them away as she smiles down at Angie. “Steve would have liked you very much, I think. And there's no competition between you.” She swallows her sadness and moves a few errant curls away from Angie's eyes. “I was alone for a long time, with what felt like a hole in my heart.” She kisses Angie tenderly once, then again. “You're here. You filled up the empty space inside me. You're my heart now. And you make me so, so happy.” Angie's eyes are bright, shining with tears. “I love you, darling.”

Angie's fingernails dig into the skin of Peggy's back; she looks electrified. “You do?”

“Yes,” Peggy laughs again. “I do.”

“Oh damn,” Angie replies, and the tears slip down her cheeks, because Angie's much more apt to weep if Peggy starts first. “I love you too. Since the minute I saw you.” She pulls Peggy down for more kisses, holding her tightly. “I was afraid to tell you. I didn't wanna scare you away.”

Peggy considers the thought, and realizes Angie was right to hold back the words until now. Love isn't something Peggy has had room for in her life, and from today on, as long as they are in one another's lives, Angie will be in danger. It's selfish to want something so precious for herself. “Being with me puts you at risk, Angie. I'm not afraid of loving you, but I am afraid for you. You could be used against me, were someone to discover us. You are a weakness, because if someone were to steal you away, I would move heaven and earth to find you.”

Angie stares up at her, unblinking. “You really mean that?”

She almost responds, “Of course,” as though Angie's question is silly. But she has only started to realize that Angie doesn't understand how much at risk Peggy has chosen to put herself by falling in love. “Indeed. I would kill to protect you, darling. I'd fight armies for you, all on my own.”

She watches the change in Angie's eyes. “I bet you'd win, too.”

Peggy nods. “I would.”

This time their kiss is long and desperate, since their cards are on the table. No use in hiding any longer. Angie's mouth opens, and Peggy pulls the covers down to join her beneath the sheets.

\---

They come up for air only when the phone across the room rings. Peggy frowns at it, wondering if she should pick up. When the bell goes silent, she returns to her duties, only to be interrupted a second time when the phone starts anew. “Hold on for a moment, darling,” Peggy says, wiping her mouth indelicately on the sheet. “It could be an emergency.” The temperature is a little cool, so she grabs a blanket from the back of a chair as she makes her way across the room. “Stark residence.”

“Ah, Miss Carter.”

“Mister Jarvis? What is it?”

“Well, you see, I, well, I received a phone call and wanted to confirm that you were not, as they say, under duress, at the moment.”

“Pardon me?”

There's a long pause. “I say, I received rather a frantic message from the, ah, the cook, who was in the process of making your supper, when he heard some unusual sounds coming from the east wing. He was concerned that he might need to call the police.”

Peggy turns around sharply to stare at Angie, her blush so intense she is certain her whole body has turned scarlet.

“Pegs?” Angie says, alarmed.

Peggy holds up a finger to her mouth to quiet her. “No need to call the police, Mister Jarvis, no need at all.”

“Police?” Angie squeaks.

“Shh,” Peggy hushes, hoping Edwin hasn't heard.

“Ah, is that Miss Martinelli?” Edwin asks.

Peggy freezes, and her brain goes into overdrive. In a moment she has the answer. “Of course it is. We were just rehearsing for Angie's audition next week. Apologies for the noise, and you can assure the cook that it won't happen again.”

“And what, pray tell, were you rehearsing at this hour?”

“Well if you must know...” Peggy weighs her options briefly before declaring with utter confidence, “ _Medea_.”

Mister Jarvis replies with an eagerness that shouldn't surprise her. “Euripides? How interesting. You know, I recently saw a performance of _Medea_ with Judith Anderson and John Gielgud. I was in the second row and was practically showered with saliva by the closing act. Was quite a remarkable night, in fact, and there was a great deal of shouting, so I can imagine--”

“Thank you very much, Mister Jarvis,” she interrupts. “Could you advise the cook not to call the police, if you please?”

“Oh, certainly. Glad to know all is well. Give Miss Martinelli my best.” He clears his throat.

“And send the poor sod home for the weekend, mind you. We'll fend for ourselves.”

“Mm, yes, no doubt. Have a lovely night.” There's another pause. “I won't mention this to Mister Stark.”

“See that you don't.” She drops the phone back on the cradle and covers her face with her hands. “Good lord.”

Angie crows, “The cook was gonna call the police on us? I thought you said we'd have privacy in this place! ”

Peggy shakes her head. “It's a wonder Howard hasn't been arrested yet if his cook's so bloody sensitive to sound. Next time I'll warn him to go before we arrive.”

“Good idea. Now come back here and finish me off. If the cook's thinking our rehearsals are over he's got another think coming.”

Peggy salutes her as she races back to the bed.

\---

They eat supper very late, long after the cook has gone and left the meal of sauteed vegetables and a whole deboned sole, still intact, which Peggy regrets not eating straight off the pan. It’s delicious, though, and Angie enjoys it too. They have a little wine, followed by a port Howard left especially for her. Angie enjoys that even more, since it’s chocolatey and goes perfectly with the pound cake, cream, and to their delight, fresh strawberries just in season.

“What do you want to do this weekend?” Angie asks from her perch in the bed, naked but for the sheet that covers her lap. She’s trying very hard not to get crumbs all over as she scoops up cake and berries from her bowl.

Peggy leans over her own bowl, nearly dropping a strawberry in her haste but rescuing it in time. “I thought tomorrow night we could go out.”

“Where to?”

“I’d like to go to that bar you’ve spoken of. With the dancing, and the ladies.” She raises one eyebrow. “So you can wear your men’s clothes.”

“Yeah?” Angie says, thrilled at the idea. “I’d need to get my trousers…” She looks at Peggy. “Which you probably already brought with you,” she finishes, as Peggy nods, grinning. “You had this all planned. You’re the best girl, Pegs. I love you,” she adds, a little weakly, as though she’s still embarrassed to say it.

“I love you,” Peggy replies, and kisses her on the ear. “Yes, I planned it. You won’t have to change clothes at Grand Central, either. As I said, despite the police incident, Howard’s staff is quite discreet. I imagine he’s had all manner of ladies up here, and possibly more than one at a time if I know him. The hotel employees are compensated well for their silence."

“If you’re sure,” Angie says. “I’m just a nobody, but you’ve got a good job, and it’s important. I don’t wanna get you in trouble with J. Edgar Hoover or anything.”

“Mister Hoover has more important things to worry about than what SSR agents get up to in their downtime, I can assure you,” Peggy says. “And now that Howard’s back in the good graces of the United States government, I expect neither of us have much to be concerned about, at least for the time being. You can feel safe as houses tomorrow night once we venture out.” She takes the last bite of her cake, looking sadly at her empty plate. “I’ll be armed, mind you. So there's nothing to concern yourself with."

“Armed?” Angie asks, laughing uncertainly. “You kiddin’ me?”

Peggy laughs too. “Of course! Why on earth would I need a gun for a night out in the city?” she replies, planning to keep her stocking holster high enough on her thigh that Angie won’t see it. Or probably won’t see it. She wonders briefly if Carol’s mother would knit her something that would suit her better.

\---

They sleep well in the four poster bed, Angie pressed up close beside her all through the night. Peggy has no idea what the time is when she wakes, because the heavy curtains block out so much light. When she checks her watch, she stares at it in surprise; it’s nearly ten. They did make love late into the night, but Peggy can’t recall the last time she slept in like this.

She moves the curtain a few inches to let some light in, and smiles at the picture perfect spring day awaiting her. She can see the Park below, and thinks it might be nice if they took a walk, or had a picnic there. Angie would enjoy that. Perhaps they’ll feed the ducks.

She glances back and is struck by the vision of her lover still in bed, draped with a white sheet and nothing else. Angie’s hair is tousled and wavy, since they didn’t put their pins in last night. Her limbs are long and slim, her spine curving sweetly from her neck all the way to her bottom. Her skin is a shade darker than Peggy’s, and she imagines that in the summer she’ll be brown and smooth after a day in the sun. If she’s lucky, she’ll get to see that.

She just has to stay lucky.

Peggy lets Angie sleep. She bathes and dresses for the day in a blue number with coral piping that Angie’s always admired, and by the time she returns she discovers that Angie has cleaned up the bedroom so it looks immaculate. The only difference is the suitcase open on the bed, overflowing with clothes.

“How about this?” Angie asks, holding up a sweater set and wide cotton trousers she sometimes wears on the weekends. Peggy had chosen them especially for today.

“Absolutely.”

Peggy packs a picnic basket with whatever she can find in the Frigidaire, like the cheese and what’s left of the berries, until she discovers the over-zealous cook has left a whole roasted chicken ready to be carved. “I suppose we won’t starve, then," she mutters.

Outdoors, they wear sunglasses and link arms as they walk into the park, and no one looks twice at two ladies out for lunch on a beautiful spring day. She catches Angie frowning violently at a pair of men in suits for some reason, but she just replies, “Nothin’,” when Peggy asks what’s wrong. They sit on a wool blanket, reading or watching children play by the pond, and later Angie gets chased by a flock of geese who become very excited once she feeds them a single morsel of bread. When a teenaged boy accidentally overthrows his football near their blanket, Angie stands and returns it to him in a perfect spiral. The boy and his raucous group of friends stare and hoot at her skill, and Peggy is impressed, yet somehow not surprised.

She wishes she had a camera, so she could remember everything about this day.

“Boy, this is the life, huh?” Angie says as she lies next to Peggy, staring up at the deep blue sky.

“It is.”

The shadows grow long, and the wind across the water cools once the day disappears into afternoon, then early evening. They’ve whiled away the hours doing nothing at all, sometimes filling the minutes with stories of family, and sometimes staying quiet, listening to the sounds of the park.

Later, Angie asks, “Think we’d get bored if we did this all the time?”

Peggy has lived in interminable chaos and anxiety for a great many years of her life. Often it felt as though she would never be able to take a full breath; that she would never have the opportunity to stare at the open sky without being afraid for the future. “No,” she says. “Not a bit.”

She thinks of Steve, and wishes he were here too.

\---

The new dress fits perfectly. She could have survived without it, but the moment she started thinking about going out on the town with Angie, she decided she needed something special.

Red’s always been her color.

She smooths the fabric over her hips before applying her lipstick. She checks the label twice, to confirm it hasn’t been mixed up with her replacement of 102 Sweet Dreams, supplied by Howard after her Russian assassin ex-neighbor had nicked her last tube. Tonight she’s going with Red Velvet, which she thinks Angie will appreciate.

“Damn,” she hears, followed by a wolf whistle. When she turns, Angie’s in the doorway of the bedroom, leaning against the frame, one foot crossed over the other. She’s in her finery for the evening, including trousers, braces, buttoned up shirt and tie. Her feet are shod in old-fashioned spats, and her fedora is not the one she wore that day in Bensonhurst. This one is sharper, perfectly suited for Angie, and it’s tilted over one eye.

Even though she’d known Angie dressed in men’s clothing, even after having her own thoughts about how she might look, Peggy finds herself stunned, and attracted. “Oh,” she breathes, not quite sure what to say. “Goodness.”

“Is that a good ‘goodness’? Because you’re gonna be the most gorgeous thing in Ruby’s tonight. The dress--that’s a good lookin’ dress, Peggy Carter. I’m gonna have to fight off the other broads with a stick.”

“I could say the same,” Peggy replies, relieved that her brain has started working once again. Angie doesn’t look like a man, but the clothes somehow give her an unexpected confidence, a swagger she doesn’t have while wearing her waitress uniform. “You look beautiful.”

Angie grins. “That’s not a word I figured on for tonight.”

“But you are, nonetheless.” She strolls to Angie, putting a shimmy in her hips, and it draws her attention as designed. “You’re… amazing.” Angie leans in for a kiss and Peggy rears back. “Ah, ah,” she says, shaking a finger. “I just put on my lipstick. Don’t want to smear it.”

Two hands fasten onto her arse, grabbing firmly. “I guess I can work around it.”

“I thought we were leaving?” Peggy asks, a little breathless.

“The band doesn’t start playing till 9. We’ve got plenty of time.”

When Angie tugs the dress up over her hips, Peggy’s relieved she hasn’t yet packed her Walther PPK/S in her stocking.

An hour later, they make it to the elevator, and Peggy does end up having to reapply her lipstick, after leaving stains beneath Angie’s shirt. Angie straightens her tie and looks smug, giving her the eye as the car descends to the lobby. “Gonna have some fun tonight,” she murmurs, and Peggy grins in reply.

Another couple joins them in the lift, and neither of them looks twice at Angie. The man’s eyes travel down Peggy’s form, but otherwise they’re ignored. They both stare straight ahead until the doors open, and they follow the couple out of the building. Peggy feels as though she’s just gone undercover. But this time, she’s not out to discover state secrets, or to save lives. She’s going out to dance, and drink, and kiss.

Angie takes her arm, and their footsteps match perfectly as they stroll down 5th. “Are you wearing lifts?” Peggy asks, noticing that Angie’s standing a bit taller than usual.

“Can’t have my girl be too much taller than me tonight,” Angie replies with a wink. “Couple inches don’t hurt, ‘specially since you’re in heels.” She glances down. “Thanks for not going too high tonight.”

“Well, I assumed we’d be dancing, so I’d like to be comfortable.”

“Good thinkin’.” Angie adjusts her hat. “Want to take a cab? It’s down in the West Village, way too far to walk. I don’t want to take any chances of you turning an ankle. I want to show you off, so we gotta make it there in one piece.”

“Show me off?” Peggy says, laughing as she frowns at Angie.

“English, if you haven’t already figured it out, you’re the prettiest girl in the whole city. Maybe the whole eastern seaboard. So yeah, I’m gonna show you off.”

She smirks in reply, feeling ridiculous, and flattered, and pleased all at the same time. “Well, I suppose I won’t waste my time arguing with you.” Although Peggy’s first instinct is to wave a taxi down, she waits. With a single whistle, Angie has a car skidding to a halt at the curb.

Peggy nods in approval. “I say, well done.”

It only takes a few minutes to make it to their destination, after they turn off Bleeker onto a quiet, unassuming block. There's no sign out front, and Angie looks over her shoulder as she approaches the door. She knocks in a syncopated beat, twice, then three times. An invisible window slides open.

"We're closed," says a voice, and Peggy's disappointment is palpable.

"I'm looking for Ruby Stevens," Angie replies, and the door swings open.

The walls must be exceptionally soundproofed, because when they enter the bar, the music and laughter is already in full swing. Angie's grin is broad, and Peggy asks her, "Who is Ruby Stevens?"

"Oh, you know, Barbara Stanwyck. That's her real name. She's from Brooklyn, too! Only from Flatbush, not Bensonhurst. She had a rough life, and now look at her. Highest paid actress in Hollywood. And she deserves every penny."

"Not to be indelicate, but is this her...establishment?" Peggy asks.

"Oh, no," Angie assures her. "But I heard once she went to Howdy's on 3rd with a 'friend,' if you know what I mean. But I never tell tales unless I have good reason." For a moment, Angie looks stricken. "You won't say anything, would ya? I'd hate for it to get around about her. She's just the best. My favorite movie actress. And if she likes the ladies too, who am I to judge?" With that, a woman dressed in a tuxedo near the front of the place spots Angie and heads straight over. She has a more masculine edge than Angie does, and she has a particular appeal with her slicked back short hair and strong eyebrows.

"Angie!" the woman shouts over the din. "Been a while! Glad you could make it. How's tricks, honey? And who's your...friend?"

Angie takes Peggy's arm, as though she can't hold herself back from doing so. "This is Peggy."

The woman's eyes grow wider, but she waves a hand in question. "And?"

"She's my sweetheart," Angie adds, peeking up at Peggy's face with pleasure. "Right?"

"Very much so," Peggy adds, putting a hand over Angie's on her arm.

“Sal Russo. Welcome to Ruby’s. I run the place. You can be yourself here, long as you keep everything you see to yourself. But I figure if you’re with Angie, you’re all set.” She takes an appreciative glimpse of Peggy’s dress. “Damn, Angie, where you been keepin’ this one?”

“To myself,” Angie replies, sliding a possessive hand around Peggy’s hip and pulling her closer. “She’s nobody’s business but mine.”

Sal laughs with gusto, and takes a step back. “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say. Just watch out for Agnes, and if I know her, she’s just her type. In the meantime, enjoy the show. If you got any requests, you bring ‘em to me and I’ll make sure the band puts ‘em on the list. White Russians are on special tonight, but we just got a coupla cases of good bourbon if that’s your drink.”

Peggy smiles; looks like she’s in luck. “Thank you, Sal. It’s lovely to meet you.”

Sal puts a hand to her heart. “Aw, geez, Ang, you two get in there before I lose my mind for that accent. And don’t tell Alice or she’ll toss me out on my ear before we get home tonight!” Sal strolls off with a wave and a grin. Peggy already feels as though she’s at home.

Angie slides her hand into Peggy’s. “Can I get you a drink? Anything you want. I’ve got a tab.”

“Oh?” Peggy asks.

“Those cases of bourbon probably came from Francis’s distributor. Sal needed a connection, so I made it work.”

Peggy can’t hide her shock. “But I thought… What would Francis say?"

“He likes makin’ money, and he doesn’t care where it comes from. Sal, she passes for a guy when she’s in the mood. Francis probably has no clue, and I’m sure as heck not gonna fill him in.” She shrugs. “And if he does know, then I got a lot more respect for him than I thought I would. He’s my brother and I love him, but he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, if you know what I mean.”

“I do,” Peggy replies. “Bourbon, straight.”

“Back in a flash,” Angie says, heading for the fray at the bar with aplomb.

Peggy uses her moment alone to take in Ruby’s. It’s a long room with a good sized stage at the far end, just now being arranged for a band to play. The musicians are of different races, as is the clientele. And while she does see a group of men knocking back drinks in one corner (looking unimpressed by the activity around them), nearly everyone else visiting the bar is female. They’re dressed in all manner of clothing, from suits to tuxes, to simple dresses to evening gowns. Peggy doesn’t feel uncomfortable in the least, and this place seems safer than other clubs. That may be foolish, but there is less aggressive energy in the air than what she usually picks up on when out at a bar.

She rather enjoys it.

Angie is, in fact, back at her side in only moments, holding up two glasses filled nearly to the brim. “Goodness, they don’t skimp, do they?”

She laughs. “Not for me. Cheers, English!”

“Cheers to you, darling,” Peggy replies, and they toast. “However did you find your way here?” she asks once they sip for a few minutes, taking in the ambiance. “No sign, signal to get in, password protection. Seems quite top secret.”

“You think so?” Angie replies. “A lady named Martha used to come to the automat all the time. She sorta gave off this… feeling. Like when I saw her, I knew what she was about, and she knew what I was about too. We recognized each other.” Angie looks at the table between them with a shrug. “That probably sounds stupid to you, huh.”

“Not at all,” Peggy says. “I imagine that’s how lots of women find their way here, wouldn’t you say?”

“Hey, I never thought about it like that,” Angie says more brightly. “Sometimes it seems like everybody already knew each other, but I guess that’s not true. Anyway, she and I got to talking once, after she’d been coming around for a while. She said she liked dancing, and she was looking for a partner who could follow, and I’m a damned great follower, so o’ course I told her I’d dance with her in a heartbeat.” She smiles as if in recollection. “She wasn’t looking for a bedtime partner, you know. I liked her, but I didn’t _like her_ like her. She had this real nice way about her, and she made me feel… normal. Turns out her honey is a seamstress, and she’s the one who cut all my clothes to fit. Candy can’t dance worth a lick but she comes here anyway, me and Martha get out on the floor and share a couple of drinks every week.”

Peggy glances around. “Are they here yet?”

“Not yet, they usually get here right before the band starts to play. Not too long, now.”

They find a table, one of the few still available, which Angie says is lucky for a Friday night. They steal a couple of extra chairs from another group of women who have some to spare. Keeping their heads together, Angie points out the girls she knows; Lorraine, who ran a team of a hundred at a munitions factory during the war, but now works as a secretary at the same factory; Janie, a teacher who left Nebraska with a broken heart because her secret love married another guy; Fiona, who’d been a nun till she came to the US and left the church behind. _Far behind_ , Angie assured her.

“A nun!” Peggy exclaimed quietly, and Angie grinned as she nodded with enthusiasm. “Earlier, Sal mentioned someone named Agnes. Is she here as well?” Peggy asks, curious.

Angie’s smile doesn’t just fade; it curdles. “Yeah.” She furtively scans the room till her eyes stop in the far corner. A slim woman in an elegant black evening dress is smoking as she chats up a tall band member setting up her bass. “That’s her, in black.”

Peggy watches her uncertainly. “Is she very unpleasant?”

“Oh, she’s okay when you meet her, till she swoops in and nabs your girl right out from under your nose. Cheating’s a two-way street and all, but she’s got no… integrity. I don’t mind if a girl is easy or loose, but stealin’ somebody just ‘cause you can, just ‘cause you want to scratch an itch? That’s rotten to the core.”

“Did she steal your girl?”

Angie shakes her head no. “Happened to a friend. She doesn’t come around anymore, but we were real tight for a while. After she got jilted, she told me it wasn’t worth it to get her heart broken like that again.” There’s a suspicious shimmer to Angie’s eyes that makes Peggy wish she’d never brought up the subject. “Last year she got hitched to a boy she grew up with. She liked him all right. But that ain’t love. That’s just… settling.”

Peggy takes her hand solemnly, beneath the table, as Angie tracks Agnes’ movements across the room. “I’m very sorry, darling.”

“Me too,” Angie replies, till she shakes herself out of her thoughts. “You wouldn’t go around with somebody like that, would you, Pegs? Even if you weren’t with me?”

“I would not,” Peggy replies, in all seriousness. She thinks of Howard, and decides to kick him in the shins next time she sees him.

“When I’m out on the floor with Martha, she’ll probably make a move on you.”

Peggy leans close, glancing around at the other women who are not shy with their affections in this company. “Fortunately I am well-versed in the art of self-defense.” She sighs against Angie’s ear beneath her hat, and is amused when she feels an answering shiver.

“Good.” When Angie turns toward her, their lips are so close Peggy can smell the faint bourbon on her breath, and her own perfume that Angie has started to wear. She wants to steal a kiss from her here in this strange, public place.

“My, my, looks like my gal’s finally got herself a lady,” a voice bellows, and Peggy is startled away from her prize. Two women hover over them wearing matching gleeful expressions. “How are ya? I’m Martha,” the first woman says as she slides into the seat across from them. “This here’s Candy. Lemme guess. You’re Peggy.”

After taking a moment to recover, she replies, “I am.” With a smile, Peggy holds out a hand to shake each of theirs. Martha is tall, a few inches taller than herself if she had to guess, wearing a sensible green frock with a full skirt. She’s in her late 30s or thereabouts, and her hair is done in dark curls that Peggy admires right away. Candy is compact and trim, with honey brown locks that fall in a Veronica Lake wave, and her dress is so elegant yet simple that Peggy wants immediately to know where she can get one just like it. “Lovely to meet you both.”

“She’s as pretty as a picture, just like you said, hon,” Candy says, and Peggy feels a blush flood her cheeks.

“Have you been talking about me?” she asks Angie.

Angie rolls her eyes. “Now and then,” she says, before shooting a quick, angry expression that on Angie’s face looks enchantingly goofy.

“Only every time we see her, dearie,” adds Martha. “Since the day you walked into the automat. Made her job a lot brighter, I’ll tell you that much. Then when you moved into her building? Forget about it. She never shut up.”

“Mars, you’re about to get your caboose kicked if you don’t shut your trap,” Angie barks, but Peggy just slides a hand along her knee and up her thigh.

“It’s all right, darling. I quite like that you liked me,” she says, and she means it. Everything about Angie seems to endear her more to Peggy, each day. “I liked you, too.”

“Not that she could tell,” Candy adds. “She said you were always sneaking off, or keeping your distance.” She smirks. “Guess Ang just needed a little patience.”

Peggy shoots Angie a look, and from the subtle nod she receives in reply, she knows Angie won’t give any explanation. “Guess so,” Angie says, taking her hand with a squeeze, as the horns start up a quick intro out on the floor.

“I suppose we should be a little nicer,” Martha says, giving Peggy a subtle wink. “We’re real happy to meet you, hon. Our Angie deserves only the best, and she’s got good taste, so you’ve officially passed muster far as we’re concerned. So long as you don’t mind if we take a turn on the dance floor, ‘cause I asked the band to play a swing right off the mark.” She waggles her eyebrows at Angie. “Ready to knock it out?”

“You bet,” Angie replies with a bright grin. “See you in a tick, English?”

Peggy nods, and watches as the two head out to the floor, already crowded with pairs of ladies who don’t waste any time. "Mind if I hit the bar for a coupla drinks, Peg?" Candy asks, and Peggy shakes her head no. "Need a top up?"

Peggy glances at their half filled glasses and replies, "I think we're fine. I do want to get home safely."

Candy gives her a nod and a charming chuckle and heads for the very crowded bar. She'll be lucky to get the attention of the bartender at all, at the rate the crowd is growing. Peggy sits back in her chair and watches Martha lead Angie around the floor, and she’s thrilled at the talent she sees. Angie is an excellent dancer, which is not a surprise, but it's interesting to watch her adorable lover, dressed in men's clothing, get tossed around the floor by a very feminine woman wearing a pretty dress. Peggy's never been one to conform to stereotypical gender roles, and she supposes Angie isn't either.

Martha makes a daring move, tossing Angie practically over her shoulder, and Peggy isn't the only one watching who gasps in delight. She claps her hands together when Angie glances over as if to make sure she's watching, and Peggy bobs her head in acknowledgement. That is, until a swaying black dress interrupts her line of vision, and she tries to peek around it. But the woman in the dress steals what was Candy’s seat and leans directly into Peggy’s space.

“Hey, sugar. Wanna buy me a drink?”

Agnes. Peggy’s mouth thins; she has no interest in speaking to this woman. “No, thank you.” She leans to the left, and spies Angie gazing at her with a concerned frown. She smiles anyway, placing her chin in hand as she leans on the table.

“You sure about that?” Agnes repeats, leaning forward, revealing far more cleavage than proper, even for a freewheeling establishment such as this.

“Yes,” Peggy replies. “Pardon me, you’re quite blocking my view.”

Agnes makes a face that Peggy deliberately ignores, as though she simply cannot believe that anyone could possibly turn away from the lovely expanse of flesh she offers up. Even if Angie had not warned her of Agnes earlier, she would have no interest, but now, she truly wants this woman to go away.

“So, you here with Angie?” Agnes asks. The smile that curls her crimson lips is suggestive to the point of obscenity, and it turns her stomach.

“I think that’s rather obvious,” Peggy replies.

“Yeah,” Agnes says. She pushes her face toward Peggy’s, and from a few inches away, she smells of ash. “She’s a great lay, ain’t she?”

With that, Peggy stands, knocking her chair backward so hard it smacks into the wall before it tips over. She leans forward with both hands gripping the sides of the table. “I suggest you excuse yourself, Miss, before I _excuse you_ myself. And if you speak a single ill word about Angie Martinelli to anyone, I’ll break both your arms. Do I make myself clear?”

Agnes’ smile fades. “Honey, I was just kiddin’--”

“I’ve no sense of humor, I’m afraid. I take everything very seriously. Very.” She smiles, and the veins in her forearms stand out just enough to put some weight behind her threat.

Agnes gets up from her chair and flounces away with the words, “Well I never!” Peggy recovers her seat and slinks down into it, glancing to either side of her. All the women around her are staring, but some are grinning. One of them, who wears an expensive suit and smokes a cigarette in a long holder, nods as if in agreement. Peggy just lifts an eyebrow as if to say, “Who, me?” and turns back to watch the dance that’s still going on.

By the end of the song, Candy has returned, and she’s glowing with excitement. “What’d you say to Aggie? She called you a _bitch in heat_ , which means we are _definitely_ gonna be pals, Peggy Carter. Aggie’s public enemy number one around here, and you gave her the heave-ho in two minutes flat!”

“I didn't say a thing to her, I'm really not sure why she'd be so angry,” Peggy replies coolly.

“Sure, hon, if you say so. Anyhow, to your health!” Candy lifts her drink, and Peggy taps it with her own.

The song ends, and the pair they're both watching finishes up with a flourish that results in Angie's legs tucked around Martha's hips, with arms up in the air. Candy laughs, and Peggy asks, “How long have you and Martha known one another?”

“Oh, we go way back. We're from the same neighborhood. We palled around a lot back in the day, but then the war came, and she signed up. I had to stay behind, 'cause my folks have a shop and my dad got sick a while back. Taking care of him was too much for her alone, so I stuck around. They run a tailor’s up on 36th.”

“Where was Martha stationed?” Peggy asks, intrigued.

"She started in North Africa as part of the ANC, then went to France in ‘44.” Peggy held her breath; it's possible she'd been at Normandy, but Peggy wouldn't pry. Candy turns a fond gaze toward her lover on the dance floor. “Soon as she came back, I made myself known, and she was so mad she hadn't gone after me before she left. We had a good laugh about that, after we stopped cryin'.” There's a tremor to Candy's voice that is very familiar, and Peggy swallows back the emotion that always seems just a bit too close to the surface for comfort. “Anyhow, we got a place down on the lower east side the week she came back and that was it. I figure once you know what you want, you stick to it, whether anybody else likes it or not. My dad was broken up, but my Mom doesn't care. Long as I show up at the shop every day, always smiling, doesn't matter. She says if I'm happy, she's happy. Whaddya think about that?” she asks with an amazed grin. “'Course I think she lights a candle for me every time she's in church. Better that than screaming I'm going to hell whenever we show up for dinner, right?”

“Indeed. She sounds lovely.”

“Yeah. “

Angie and Martha stumble back to the table, laughing and glowing from their efforts. Angie practically flops down and tosses back half her drink. “So, Pegs, you up for a spin once I catch my breath?”

Peggy chuckles. “I don't think I'm that talented, I'm afraid. Something a little simpler would suit me,” she replies.

“I'll teach you some steps if you feel like it, otherwise we'll keep it slow.” Angie's eyes are soft, and she knows they're both thinking of the dance they shared the night Peggy came home to the Griffith.

“I'd like that.”

Martha and Candy are whispering to one another across the table, and Martha's eyes bolt toward Peggy's at something Candy says. They widen, and a grin curves her generous mouth. “So Agnes introduced herself, eh?” Martha asks.

“Mm,” Peggy responds noncommittally. “For a moment.”

Angie straightens next to her. “What'd she say?”

“Nothing of interest. Someone called her away, I believe. She seems quite... popular here.” Angie's searching the crowd for her nemesis, but Peggy places one hand on her elbow to distract her. “I don't expect she'll be back. She didn't seem to like me very much.”

Angie makes one of her sillier faces, scrunching up her nose. “Not like you Peg? Come on, everybody likes you.”

It's amusing to hear that, although it's possible that Angie has never noticed that Peggy has very few female friends, or friends of any kind other than those she knew during the war. She's all right at simple conversation, but she keeps so much to herself that her friendships tend to be one-sided till they fade into nothing. It's safer that way, for everyone.

Angie is, as she has always been, the exception.

She's about to argue the point with Angie when there's an odd set of noises from the back of the club, voices that strike her as too low, too gruff. It's not obvious beneath the din of conversation and music, but it's just enough to draw Peggy's attention. The long hall that leads to the back of the club is dark, but something in the air makes her frown and check the holster tucked in her stocking. Quickly she glances around the space, looking for anything that might offer some assistance if the opportunity arises. On the far left there's a whole collection of sports memorabilia and framed team photographs decorating the wall; yes, that should do it. She stands suddenly, to Angie's surprise, and mutters a quiet, “Excuse me,” to the group. If something is going on, at least she won't be unprepared. Carefully she navigates the tables on the left and hops on her toes to pull the cricket bat down from its perch atop two nails. She blows the dust from it and checks its heft. Not too heavy, and just right for smashing things. Better for her than a baseball bat, which is her other option, but she's had an unpleasant experience with a bat too recently to want to recreate it, even if she's the one doing the swinging.

Someone calls her name, but she's already making her way into the darkness when she hears a cry, and the angry voices grow louder and sharper.

A woman rushes forward practically into Peggy's arms. “Sal's gotta call the cops—Margie's ex is here and he's trying to kidnap her or something!” Peggy gasps, and the woman continues, “He's got a coupla friends with 'em. She's in real trouble!”

“Find Sal right away.” Peggy is surprised there isn't security at the back door to a place that seems to operate openly yet secretly under the noses of the establishment. She pushes the woman out of her way and hurries forward. Shoving the door to the outside open, she finds herself at the top of a set of stairs looking down on a driveway to the alley. Thankfully it's lit enough for her to spot three men, one of whom holds a squirming, yelping woman in his arms. He's covering her mouth.

Peggy sees red, and welcomes the wash of adrenaline that floods her system in only seconds. She breathes evenly as she descends the stairs silently as she can, and without warning, she goes after the first man, who wears an ill fitting brown suit, with a massive crack to one of his knees. He falls with a shout, but he goes down, which is the important thing. The other two turn in surprise, and when one of them starts forward, hands out aimlessly, Peggy almost breathes a sigh of relief. These men are untrained; not soldiers, not secret agents, not fighters. She sidesteps him easily and cracks him on the side of the head; he drops immediately, if not unconscious, then at least disoriented. Her main goal is now in sight: to free the woman in danger. The man holding Margie is enraged, and he is clearly the one she should be most concerned about. He tosses his prize to the side, and she falls to the ground with a small scream. He's speaking, practically spitting at her, but Peggy doesn't register anything but the roaring of blood in her ears.

When Margie doesn't move, frozen by fear as the two of them face off, Peggy hisses, “Run!”

“Don't you move, Margie,” the man growls, but Margie scrambles up and runs toward the stairs. As he tries to reach for her, Peggy swings, but the bat doesn't meet its mark; someone grabs it and yanks it out of her grasp. This one is limping—Brown Suit, she thinks for a split second—and he tosses the bat away. He grabs Peggy from behind, hoisting her up around her shoulders. That serves her well, because when the dangerous one comes toward her, she uses her momentum to kick out hard enough to snap his head back with a bone-shivering crunch. Not paying much mind to where he lands, Peggy jerks her legs up high and then down, crushing her captor's shoe with both heels. He screams in her ear loud enough to hurt, and once he releases her, she punches behind with her left elbow, pivots and finishes him off with a solid right hook that sends him flying. He doesn't move after that.

Turning around, she spies the the dangerous one as he tries to get to his feet, cursing in a stream of almost incomprehensible words. She kicks him in the face and he falls, still conscious but in pain. “You bitch, you fucking bitch--”

Peggy uses a couple of seconds to peer at the other two men, and they are in no condition to come to the aid of their friend, so Peggy relaxes slightly. She approaches her quarry with a firm stare, and wishes she'd had time to apply a fresh coat of lipstick before she'd come out. She always prefers to look her best before an interrogation, even an informal one.

There's a scrap of cardboard a few feet away, sticking out of one of the bins. She pulls it free and drops it on the ground by Mister Dangerous's head. Crouching, she uses the cardboard to protect her stockings from the gravel, and puts her other knee against his throat. His eyes bulge in alarm. Slowly, she lifts her skirt and removes her piece; she points the gun at his face with a pleasant smile.

“You're going to collect your friends and leave this place right now, do you understand?”

The man chokes a little and Peggy pushes down with her knee harder. When his hand comes up, she adds, “Don't move, please. My finger might slip, and then I'll have an awful mess to clean up. Besides, this is a new dress, and it would be an absolute shame to get blood on it. All right?"

The man nods, and she lets up slightly. “Now, where was I? Oh yes, I want you to go away from here and never come back. I also want you to leave that girl, Margie is it?” she asks, waiting for a reply. When there is none, she pushes down. “I asked you a question.”

“Yeah,” the man chokes.

“I want you to leave Margie alone. Forget this place, forget her name, forget her address.” She slips a hand down into the man's jacket, searching, and discovers a thin wallet. She drops it open and reads, “Alfred J. Hopkins, 34 112th Street, Queens.” She drops the wallet on his chest. “I can't say it's been a pleasure to meet you, Mister Hopkins. Now, down to business: if I hear that you've been after Margie again, if I hear that she's seen you on the street, or you’ve called her at home, or done anything remotely related to her, I shall call my friends in Bensonhurst—you know Bensonhurst, don't you, Mister Hopkins?--and provide your name and address. They'll be more than happy to manage this nasty business for me.” She leans down with more weight, and tries to keep the snarl from her face. “Am I making myself clear, Mister Hopkins? I'll have you _taken care of_ if you don't leave her alone.”

It's a bluff, but no matter. She is very, very good at this sort of thing.

The man nods infinitesimally. He doesn't have much room to do more.

“Well, we understand each other. I'll leave you to it. Take your friends and forget this place exists.” She presses the gun to his forehead and he stiffens beneath her. “Now.”

With that, she stands, and brushes herself off. The gun is still in her hand, and her stance is strong as she watches him drag one of his friends to his feet, and when he spits at her, the man shoves him. “Cut it out, Bart, we gotta get outta here. This dame's cuckoo.”

Peggy smiles. She cocks the pistol, just to do it, and the sound is as loud as a shot in the silence of the alley. That spurs them into further action, and they pull the last of the men up and put him between them. He can't walk very well; Peggy doesn't feel badly about it in the least. Within a minute, they disappear into the night.

She takes a moment to enjoy the quiet coolness of the evening. She's done well, and rotates her neck on her shoulders with a sigh. She might be a bit sore later, but otherwise she's in excellent shape. What a lovely night.

When she turns around to climb the stairs, she notices four people staring down at her from the top of the stairs: Angie, Sal, Candy, and Martha. “Oh, hello. Just getting a breath of fresh air. Everyone smokes a great deal inside, don't they?” she says.

“Jesus Christ,” Martha says, and Candy kicks her.

“Peg, you okay?” Angie asks, and her gaze is on the gun, which Peggy has inconveniently forgotten to reholster. She does so quickly, brushing off her dress with both hands and assessing her outfit. No rips, no blood, not even a ladder in her stockings. Not bad.

“I'm very well. Ready to go back inside?” She climbs the stairs and holds the door for her friends, who are still stunned. Angie is last, and before she goes in, she grabs Peggy and kisses her, mouth open, tongue sweeping inside. She slides her hands into Peggy's hair with a groan, taking her bottom lip between her teeth. They lean heavily against the open door for a long moment as Angie kisses her senseless, and at once Peggy's wet and yearning. She slips one hand down between Angie's legs and presses, not caring who sees them, and Angie jerks against her.

Once they part, Angie is panting, and Peggy is too. “I'm the luckiest goddamn girl in the world, English. And you're gonna get some real good action tonight, you hear?”

Peggy moans quietly. She's ready to leave right now.

“But first we need to come up with some kinda cockamamie story to tell everybody about why you've got a gun, and why you just took out three huge guys all on your own. Okay?”

With a weak nod, Peggy separates herself from Angie and exhales.

“Besides, you still owe me a dance,” Angie adds, and struts back into the club with a sway to her hips.

Once inside, she follows Angie to a small office on the right side of the hall, where their group has gathered. With them is the girl who had alerted her to the danger, as well as Margie, who is still shaken from her near miss. Peggy realizes the girl is sporting a dark bruise over one eye, and if she'd had any lingering guilt over her actions, it would have evaporated instantly. Margie gazes up at her with a kind of worship that makes Peggy uncomfortable. “Hello, dear, are you quite all right?” she asks.

Margie nods, unable to take her eyes off Peggy. “You're Peggy,” she says, and Peggy nods in reply. “Is that short for Margaret?” Another nod. “That's my name too.” She smiles, and winces at the pain the movement brings. “I go by Margie, though.”

“That's very nice, dear.” Peggy swallows and doesn't look up at any of the women who witnessed her “conversation” with the men outside. “I don't think Mister Hopkins will be bothering you again, but just in case, take this.” It's a simple card of thick, white stock, bearing her name and work number. It reveals no other identifying information. It occurs to her that it might be nice to have her own line, since the hall telephone number at the Griffith isn't one she should be handing out to ladies in distress. Perhaps she'll have to reconsider the offer Howard made a few days ago.

Margie takes the card and stares at it.

“Ring me anytime,” Peggy adds.

Sal's watching her with interest. “You got any other friends at the phone company who might be able to help her out?” she asks.

Peggy returns her gaze steadily. “No,” she replies.

“Sure was lucky you were here,” Sal continues. “My regular security's got the flu, and he had pneumonia two years ago so I sent him home. That's the last time I go without. Guess I'll need somebody to stand in tomorrow.” She laughs. “You free, Carter?”

Peggy rolls her eyes and looks away, embarrassed.

“I grease some palms over at the 6th to stay open, so thanks for heading off what mighta been a complicated phone call,” Sal adds. “Seriously.”

“My pleasure.” She glances at Margie again, who has started to shake. She's about to say that she needs a coat when Martha goes into action. She rifles through a cupboard and finds a blanket to cover Margie's shoulders.

“Gotta warm you up, sweetie,” Martha says. “Don't want you to get sick. How 'bout a brandy, Sal?”

“Sure thing.”

“We'll stay back here til Margie and Delia here are ready to go home. We'll make sure they get there safe.” She motions toward the open door with her head. “Why don't you two go on and enjoy what's left of the night?”

Angie takes her hand and squeezes it. “Sure. You take care now, Marge, okay?”

The girl nods, her blonde curls bobbing. She starts to cry then, and Martha holds on and rocks her slowly in a strong embrace.

They leave, and Peggy follows Angie out toward the bar. No one else had any clue of what went on only a few meters away, and for that, she is grateful. Sal is behind the bar, probably delivering the news to the bartender, who Peggy realizes is packing a firearm beneath his jacket. It makes sense, but Peggy wants to kick herself for not noticing. When Sal sees them, she nods in their direction. “These two don't pay. 'Specially that one. Now, or ever. Got it?”

The bartender smiles, and looks at Peggy with respect. “What'll you have, girls?”

Angie glances at her, eyebrows raised. “Whisky, maybe?”

“Sure.”

They sip their drinks seated on stools, as their table has been confiscated by other customers since their departure. Peggy slowly comes down from her rush, and the whisky helps. When the band starts playing a song that she's heard but doesn't quite place, Angie sets her glass down and takes her hand. “Come on, English. This is the one.”

They join the other couples on the floor, and Peggy lets her lead. They sway together slowly, sweetly, and Peggy rests her chin on Angie's shoulder.

“Love you, Pegs,” Angie whispers in her ear.

Peggy holds her tightly, and kisses her cheek. “My sweet darling,” she whispers in return.

\---

They dance for a long time, through fast songs and slow songs, with Angie swinging Peggy around like a professional by the end of the night. It's the most fun she’s had out on the town in in ages.

Later, she nearly falls asleep in the taxi on the way home. Angie nudges her into semi-coherence once they arrive at the building, and the doorman tips his hat as they stroll in, Peggy leaning on Angie far more than decent. She's experienced this sort of crashing exhaustion before, usually after a fight, but only once she knows it's safe. Clearly her body is aware that she is in good hands, because when they are back in the bedroom, she's ready to collapse. Angie helps her out of her dress, carefully setting the gun at the side of the bed when she's in her girdle and stockings.

"Never got to see you do business before tonight," she says as she folds the dress on the back of a chair. "You're pretty amazing."

"Thank you," Peggy replies, because that's what one says when one receives a compliment.

"Steve teach you how to fight like that?" Angie asks.

Peggy only laughs. "I taught him," she replies, falling back on the bed. Angie unhooks her suspenders and rolls down her stockings, and once her girdle’s off, she's out like a light.

Some time later, she awakens, clinging to Angie in the dark bedroom. The curtains are open just enough to let a little light in from the city. She can’t see much, but she makes out the silhouette of Angie’s lovely features, of her breasts and hips beneath the sheet. Angie must have dressed her sometime after she’d fallen asleep, since she’s in fresh knickers and a camisole she favors for sleeping.

Angie, on the other hand, wears nothing at all.

Peggy recalls that Angie had promised her some “real good action” which she had not yet had a chance to enjoy. She squirms in the bed, remembering that kiss against the door, and so many of the kisses she’s shared with Angie over the last weeks. Lying back on the mattress, she considers taking care of the urge herself, but Angie’s hands, her mouth, the promised sweetness between her thighs are too much to resist. She sneaks a hand toward Angie, finding a breast, kneading it gently. She hears an intake of breath; Angie doesn’t wake, but she sleep-talks, “English.” She says it again when Peggy rubs her thumb along a peaking nipple, and then there’s a sharper gasp. “Uhn, Peggy,” she murmurs, and her hand covers Peggy’s fingers to make the touch more firm.

“Are you awake?” Peggy asks, and a mouth is at hers in a moment’s notice; perhaps Angie thinks she’s dreaming, or she’s wide awake, but either way, she is ready and willing to give everything she has.

“Want,” Angie pleads, “want you.”

“Wake up, darling,” Peggy urges. She needs Angie to remember this.

Angie chuckles. “‘M up, honey,” she says, and somehow they’ve already found a rhythm. It feels like a dream when Angie rolls over atop her in the dark, hovering above with her arms straight. Peggy’s fingers pinch and twist her breasts, just as she likes, and her teeth find their mark only moments later. Angie’s voice is shockingly loud in the otherwise silent room, and Peggy feels it like a bolt of lightning through her whole body. “Harder?” Angie asks, and Peggy sucks more strongly as one hand comes to rest against the back of her head.

Angie gets to her knees, and Peggy sits up beneath her, welcoming the slight weight at the tops of her thighs. Everything about this is beautiful; the scent of her fading perfume, the softness of her hair, the electric heat of her body. She has a brief thought of what her life might have been like had she rejected Angie’s first offering of friendship, and that only makes Peggy hold her closer, mouthing at her collarbone hungrily. “I’ll give you anything you want, darling,” Peggy whispers, her fingers grasping at Angie’s bottom as she rocks.

“Your fingers, inside,” Angie hisses, reaching back for the headboard behind Peggy. “Hard.”

Peggy navigates toward her goal with her left hand, the right bringing Angie’s mouth against her own. She hears a cry when she slides home, and it’s exactly as she imagined: tight and slick. Her own name echoes in the room as Angie tosses her head back, and she rides like she dances, quick and fierce and sharp. The headboard behind her begins to bang against the wall, which is more thrilling than Peggy ever suspected it might be. Angie seems to enjoy it too, because she laughs for a moment until Peggy reaches up to urge one of Angie’s hands between her own legs. Angie gasps, her eyes open in the darkness, and their gazes meet, until those dark eyes flutter closed once her fingers begin to move. Her whole body curves forward as her voice grows louder, more urgent, and Peggy murmurs encouragement until she feels the crush around her fingers. Angie stiffens, still quiet when she comes, but it’s no less powerful. She falls forward when it’s over, head at Peggy’s shoulder, and Peggy’s heartbeat in her ears is so loud she’s sure Angie must be able to hear it. Angie shivers as she comes down, biting down gently on Peggy’s shoulder when she removes her fingers.

“Darling,” Peggy says, hugging her tightly around the ribs. “I adore you.”

They stay like that for a while, as Peggy kisses the salt from Angie’s throat, and sighs in contentment. But it turns out that Angie is not content, and she maneuvers off her and pulls on Peggy’s arm. “Now, you,” she says. “Get those skivvies off and get on top.”

Peggy isn’t about to say no; in about two minutes she’d have been more than happy to finish herself off were Angie to drop back to sleep. Instead she strips and straddles Angie’s legs, but doesn’t rest her weight on them; she doesn’t want to hurt her. But Angie grabs her arse and jerks her closer, wasting no time and thrusting up inside her with two fingers. Peggy reaches for the headboard for leverage, and it turns out to be a marvelous choice, because it puts Angie’s mouth right in line with her breasts. “Yes,” she groans, over and over, as Angie tenderly mouths at her. She doesn’t expect she’ll need more than this, until Angie does exactly as she had, and pulls her hand to rest between her own legs.

“Help me out, Peggy,” Angie says, and her voice is different than usual, thick and low with lust.

Peggy does as she asks, and it’s so good, so intense, that she can hear the cracking of the headboard against the wall just like before. She lets her inhibitions go, crying out Angie’s name at least once, and when she comes, she holds Angie’s hand still and sobs into that moment of bliss, contracting around the fingers inside her. She catches herself before she collapses, but Angie keeps her palm cupped against her, and urges her down and into an embrace. Their mouths meet in breathless kisses, and Peggy hums as her body melts in total serenity.

They both lie down in the heat of the sheets, and Angie cuddles up behind her, tucking her knees tight against Peggy’s. “Glad you woke, me, English,” she says, and Peggy can hear the grin in her voice.

“So am I.” She kisses Angie’s hand once before she tucks it around her waist. It takes only a few minutes for Angie to fall asleep, so Peggy closes her eyes and concentrates on the even cadence of her breathing. It makes her smile that the further into sleep she falls, the more tightly she holds onto Peggy.

\---

In the morning, Angie makes eggs (“The real thing!” she exclaims when Peggy enters the kitchen) and they eat outside on the rooftop terrace. The sun is warm on their skin, and Peggy wonders if she’s glowing as brightly as she feels. Angie certainly appears to be happy too; she doesn’t stop smiling as she crosses Peggy’s ankles with her own under the small table.

“It’s nice here,” Angie says, munching on toast and jam. The coffee is almost gone, and Peggy is pleasantly full. “Think we can come back every now and then? See how the other half lives?”

Peggy takes a breath, and bites her lip. Should she take the leap?

 _Yes_ , she hears a familiar voice whisper in the back of her mind. _Don’t let your life pass you by. Make the choice_.

“Well, funny you should ask,” Peggy starts, looking out over the city. “If you wanted, we could stay here all the time.”

Angie frowns, and finishes her toast. After she swallows, she asks, “What the heck does that mean? Is Howard looking for a housekeeper or somethin’?”

Peggy shrugs her shoulders to loosen them up. “No, It’s just that--” she stumbles looking for the right words. “You see, Howard owes me a favor, or rather, a thousand by now. He’s offered this place to me. To us. For us to live in.” She neglects to mention that she hasn’t discussed a housemate joining her, but Howard won’t care. In fact, he’ll be intrigued, which will annoy her, but she can survive it if it means she and Angie can share this place together.

“Huh?”

Peggy leans closer and rolls her eyes. She takes Angie’s hand. “Angie, do you want to leave the Griffith and live here with me?”

Angie blinks at her uncomprehendingly. “Are you kiddin’ me?”

Peggy shakes her head.

“You want me to live here? With you?”

She nods.

“I can’t afford--”

“Rent-free,” Peggy interrupts.

Angie’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

“It’s a bit far from the theatre district--”

“I’ll live with it,” Angie says.

That sounds like the right answer. “So, you mean, you’ll do it?”

“Peggy Carter, if you’re askin’ me to leave the Griffith and come here and live with you rent-free in this crazy mansion with a phone in every room and more bathrooms than you can shake a stick at, the answer is yes!” she nearly shouts, and jumps from her chair. She doesn’t knock Peggy out of her seat when she lands in her lap, but it is a near thing. After Angie stops almost strangling her in a hug, Angie puts her head on Peggy’s shoulder. “You know I never lived with anybody before. Just home with my family, and at the Griffith.” Peggy strokes her back, sensing she wants to say more. “I don’t know if I ever thought I would. Share a place with someone I--I love, I mean.” It’s not hesitation now, but melancholy in Angie’s voice.

“Are you certain you’re ready? I won’t mind if you aren’t. I want this to be a happy change, but it’s a lot, and very quick.”

“I want it more than anything,” Angie says. “Long as you do, and you’re not just askin’ because you think I need help. I can take care of myself, you know.”

Peggy smiles. “I know that very well indeed.” She looks out over the city, and in her mind she sees the days and nights they might spend together here. “I didn’t believe I’d ever live with anyone either. I imagined it, sometimes, before the war. Being married. Then… everything happened. I changed.”

Angie is very quiet. “You lost a lot.”

“No more than anyone else, and less than many. I’m still here, in one piece.” She turns and gazes down on Angie, her blue eyes sparkling under a perfect Sunday sky. “Now I have you. And the idea of us, here, is very much what I want. I don’t care if it’s too soon. When you find something good, you should hold on tightly and keep it close.”

Angie bobs her head. “You wanna keep me close?”

Peggy nods.

“I want that too,” she whispers. Leaning up, she kisses Peggy very tenderly, sighing into her mouth.

They don’t talk for a while after that.

Later, Angie calls her mother to deliver the good news, and Peggy rings Howard. Mister Jarvis answers. “Stark residence.”

“Hullo Mister Jarvis. Is Howard available?”

“it’s a bit early for him on a Sunday, Miss Carter. Is it an emergency?”

“Not as such,” she replies, peeking at her watch. “It’s past eleven!”

“Indeed it is. I expect him shortly--ahh, I hear him. Hold for just a moment.”

She waits.

“Peggy!” Howard greets, and his enthusiasm is as infectious as ever.

“Hello, Howard,” she says, and in an instant, she’s nervous. Not afraid, exactly, but uncomfortable. Howard has always known how deeply her feelings ran for Steve, and she wonders if he’ll realize what’s happening with Angie. She hopes not. She couldn’t bear to be made fun of for being in love, assuming he wouldn't find her behavior deviant. “How are you?”

“Oh you know, Sunday mornings are always a gas for me,” he replies, coughing. “I’ve had worse days, anyhow. What’s up?”

“Mm, well,” she clears her throat. “So, I’ve considered taking you up on your offer.”

There’s a pause, followed by a pleased chuckle. “You mean you’re gonna move into the place up on 5th?”

“Yes.” She gathers her courage, feeling foolish before she says the words. “And I’d like some company. Miss Martinelli will be joining me, with your permission.”

“Who the hell is Miss Martinelli?” he asks, and she thinks she can hear him take a puff of cigar. Even the thought of one this early in the day makes her want to gag. “I don’t remember her.”

She swallows. “Angie. From the Griffith. She rescued me when the SSR came calling, the night you picked me up from the pier in Brooklyn. ”

“Angie… Angie. I don’t remember her. We both know I’m not all that great with names, but--” She can practically hear him realize it. “Is she the one--hey, wait a second.” The tone of his voice tells her she should distract him from the path his very quick brain is taking.

“You’ve never met her, but she’s a very good friend, down on her luck, and she--”

“Hey, Peg.” His voice is unexpectedly soft.

Weakly, she replies, “Yes?”

“You like this girl?” he asks. There is a weight to his question that is absent in his normal conversation.

Her heart is beating very loudly. She feels a bit sick. “Of course I do. She’s lovely. Of course I like her.”

The pause is longer this time. “And she’s the one I should stay away from, right?”

He remembers. “Yes, I would prefer that. She’s wonderful. I wouldn’t want to see her hurt.” She takes a deep breath. “I would, in fact, be very angry if she were hurt by anyone. Especially you, knowing that I--I care for her.”

Even from here, she can hear the wheels turning in his head. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Peg. If she’s off limits, she’s off limits.” He laughs a little uncertainly. “I bet she’s real pretty. Gorgeous even, yeah? She’d have to be to land a dame like you.”

Trust Howard to be so very forward about something so serious. His message is clear. _I know, and I don’t care._ She spares a moment considering a lie, to tell him he’s completely misconstrued her words, then dismisses the idea. Somehow she trusts Howard even when he gives her so many reasons not to. _More fool you, Peggy Carter._ “She is very beautiful, yes,” she admits.

This brings a real laugh out of him. “Well all right then! That's some good news, for a change. Jarvis can send a van for the two of you whenever you want it.”

“I doubt we’ll need a van.” She recalls the decor of Angie’s apartment. It’s got far more personal touches crammed into it than her own place has. “Perhaps a small one. I’ll have to see when she wants to pack her things. We’ll need some time.”

“Whatever it takes. You deserve this, Carter. I figure if you’re there and I screw up again you’ll have good reason to lend a hand, right?”

“Oh, Howard,” she says, “You are ridiculous.”

“And you’re the best pal a guy could have. You know that, dontcha?”

Peggy feels the expanse of space between them, and suddenly feels a lot like crying. Howard is foolish and brilliant and terrible, and she loves him very, very much. Her voice wobbles when she replies, “I do.”

“I wanna meet this girl next time I see you. Next week, we’ll get dinner. Anyplace you want. The nicest restaurant, the hottest club--you name it, I’ll make it happen.”

Peggy laughs and nearly tells him that she’d rather just have him over and cook, until she has an idea. A very good idea. “I know a place. You won’t have to lift a finger. I’m friendly with the proprietor. They have good liquor and a wonderful band.” _And a hundred women who won’t look twice at you_. “You’ll love it.”

“Great! Call me, and we’ll do it. Next Friday, yeah?”

She laughs to herself. “Perfect.”

\---

They decide to spend the rest of the week at the Griffith to give Miss Fry some notice, although if Peggy’s luck holds Miriam will toss them out on their ears and they’ll be forced to relocate immediately. She’ll want to say a proper farewell to the girls she’s made friends with as well, and she hopes that at least some of them will want to stay in touch. Particularly Carol and Rose; she still owes them a tremendous debt.

Angie’s mother has demanded they both pay another visit to Bensonhurst soon, especially since Peggy is rescuing her baby from the perils of living as a single gal in the city. Angie had admitted her mother had been uncertain about the change, but as soon as she’d heard a very conservative description of the new home, she’d come around lickety split. Now they just have to rechristen Peggy by her real name and her real accent, since Angie’s whole family thinks she’s an American named Molly.

“We didn’t really think that through at the time, huh,” Angie frowns.

“It was an emergency. I’ll say it was for an acting class. Or something.”

“Maybe you should just tell them you work for the government. They’ll probably stop asking you questions forever.” Angie shrugs. “Their noses are clean enough, but at least they’ll be on their best behavior.”

“That’s a thought.”

Instead of lying about for the rest of the day, they choose to pack their few things and head out. “I still gotta work tomorrow, and so do you. We’ll do some good celebrating once we’re in for good, right?” Angie asks.

“Most certainly.”

Peggy carries their shared suitcase as they depart from their new home, to return to the place where everything changed. Peggy will miss many things about the Griffith, mostly around memories of Angie, and so many of their firsts. Their first dance, especially.

“What are you thinking about over there, English?” Angie asks as they stop at a signal. “You’re all starry-eyed.”

Peggy glances over and smiles. “You.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Long-winded, explanatory author's notes:_  
>  Thanks very much to Xander for the edits and suggestions, as always!  
> I chose to make the first of the Stark homes Peggy stayed in during "Agent Carter” the one that she and Angie move into at the end of the season. I have no idea where it’s actually located, but such is life. I also wrapped the start of this story back into a semi-canon, with the exception of Peggy’s escape and jaunt to Bensonhurst. In this AU, it took a lot longer for her to capture Johann Fenhoff, and Dottie escaped as she did in “Valediction.”
> 
> "Ruby’s" does not exist, except in my own imagination. This sanitized fantasy nightclub is surely a lot cleaner, more innocent, and less dangerous than most lesbian and gay clubs were in the Village in the 40s, but I decided that for creative purposes it might be okay. The Howdy Club was a real place, however, on W. 3rd near Washington Square Park. They had their own football team!
> 
> Also, Barbara Stanwyck may or may not have liked the ladies (wishful thinking on my part), but I hope she wouldn't mind being the inspiration behind the name of the bar. Stanwyck did teach dance at a gay & lesbian speakeasy owned by notorious (female) entrepreneur and mob-connected Texas Guinan during the 20s, not to mention putting in her time as a performer at Guinan’s nightclubs. I like to imagine she wouldn’t hate the tribute. Stanwyck is without a doubt my favorite actress of the era.
> 
> Lastly, John Gielgud and Judith Anderson did actually perform Medea on Broadway, but I had to fudge the year--it was 1947, not ‘46. I took a stab in the dark on my first draft with imagining Gielgud and Medea, and to discover that he had performed this very show during the exact era in the same city I was writing about was too wonderful.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the story. Stop by and say hi on tumblr at [@chilly-flame.](http://chilly-flame.tumblr.com)


End file.
